


Disgust

by orphan_account



Series: Why I Feel [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Chameron, Child Abuse, Death, F/M, Flashback, Gen, Long Drabble, Memory, Oneshot, Short, alcoholic, teen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kids disgust Chase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgust

If Robert Chase were to be totally honest with himself, he would admit that he hated children. Or even that they disgusted him. Not very young children, as they had very little control over what they did and said and were generally either oblivious or products of their parents (in which case he hated the parents instead), or teenagers, because Christ knows he'd been a difficult teenager, but 'tweens'. Kids aged seven to twelve who thought that they knew it _all_. Who refused to let him perform physical exams because they were 'shy', or even worse, fluttered their lashes at him and blushed whenever he spoke. He loathed them.

Except for the odd few.

When a kid came in who flinched away from his touch, or had odd, unexplained bruising, or had to have a full body exam, he couldn't hate them. Even when they were angry, and tried to hit him or bite him, he couldn't hate them, because he had been one.

* * *

 

_“Robert! Robert, for Christ's sake, come here!”_

_Cece had already gotten on the bus to her school, and so the house was quiet, except for the screeches from his mother which Robert could easily ignore. Hatred pumped through his veins as he steadily dressed for school, still slightly drunk from his night out with friends, an achievement even to him. He was always careful, though – only one night out a week. He didn't want to end up like her._

_“Robert! Fucking hell, come here right now!”_

_Straightening his tie, Robert slung his school bag over one shoulder before descending the stairs to the source of the yelling,the living room. Slumped across the once-shiny leather sofa, a remnant of when his father had been around, she was clutching an empty bottle in one tight fit and cradling another empty bottle in the crook of her arm. As soon as he entered the room, she flung one towards him, which he neatly dodged._

_“Get me a drink.”_

_“No.”_

_The other bottle came flying, this time clipping him on the cheek and immediately causing a warm, throbbing pain to spread out through the skin. He'd have a bruise, he could already tell. Before his dad had left, his mum had never hit him before. His father had spanked him occasionally as a child, but never his mother. Now, he barely went a day without her slapping him, throwing something at him, screaming until the spit flew._

_“Get me a fucking drink or I swear to God I'll lock you out of this house and never let you in again.”_

_Robert snorted. “Want to take care of your daughter by yourself? Want to go grocery shopping, have to pick out little girl dresses? Yeah, that sounds just like you. Get your own drink.”_

_With nothing left to throw, the spindly woman staggered to her feet, her eyes unable to focus on her son._

_“Get me a drink.”_

_When his father had first gone, Robert had rushed to obey his mother's every command, even when she demanded her fifth, sixth, seventh drink of the evening._

_“I poured it all away.” Robert lied, starting towards the front door. “Sober up and buy some yourself.”_

_Addiction can give surprising attacks of adrenaline, and before he knew it his mother had grabbed him and was hitting him, half-slaps half-punches that he experienced almost every day. He shrugged her off easily._

_“Go away.” was all he said, the disgust evident in his voice. When she continued to hit him, he grew more powerful. “Get off of me! You have no right to hit me! You're not a mother, you bitch!”_

_Anger can also give adrenaline. Robert flung his mother off easily, feeling guilty at his satisfaction when she slunk back to the sofa._

* * *

 

_“How did you get those bruises on your face?”_

_Sheila Storr wasn't his girlfriend exactly, but she was always up for a fuck when drunk and usually didn't probe too deep into his vague answers to certain questions, or why he refused to go out often but could always be relied on to bring a multitude of bottles. Robert paused for a second, contemplating. He was seventeen. If he told her what was going on, and she passed on the information, in all likelihood Cece would be fostered out or even adopted, while he'd be provided with a room or a bedsit somewhere._

_“My mum got a little bit annoyed.” he replied, trying to flash her his signature grin which had melted many hearts within the school. Sheila's eyes grew wide._

_“Did she...did she hit you?”_

_Robert hated her a little, then. Was she so stupid as to have to ask? A thousand sarcastic replies ran through his mind._

_“Yes.”_

_“Does she do it often?”_

_Robert didn't quite know why he was feeling a rush of relief, but answered with a touch of humour. “Only when she's been drinking – so yes, every day.”_

_Sheila grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. “You have to tell someone.”_

_An hour later, Robert was pulled out of his Maths class for questioning. Two hours later, he was taken home along with his younger sister, where they found their mother on the floor. After another hour they were told that her liver had suddenly failed, and that she was dead._

_Robert was relieved._

* * *

 

“Why do you hate kids so much?” Cameron asked him one day, while he made dinner and she read through a case file.

“I don't!” Chase replied, mustering up as much astonishment as he could manage.

“Oh, come _on_ – you refer pretty much any surgery on a minor to other surgeons, you actively avoid doing emergency in case its a kid...why do you hate them so much?”

Chase briefly thought back to Sheila, and her wide eyes. Cameron didn't need to know as much.

“They don't know how lucky they are.” he finally settled on, focusing on the chicken in his hands. “They don't know how lucky they are.”

 


End file.
